Ariana's Holiday
by Vampire.Authoress
Summary: Ariana Dumbledore tells about her favorite Christmas. Caution:Implied Slash


I sat happily in my painting, beautifully oblivious to what was going on in my brother's bar. I got up after awhile and paced about my painting. A warm fire burned cheerfully in the grate below me; but no matter how warm the fire grew, it could not warm the coldness left in my heart. I wished for company and I especially wanted my brothers' company. Either Aberforth or Albus, it did not matter to me.

I heard voices in the sitting room where my painting hung, and I turned around to see who might be there. There, sitting in a gently pink chair, was a skinny woman, wearing a shocking green dress and tightly curled hair. I did not like the sight of her at all and I turned my back to her.

"Oh my! Dolores, do come see who's painting this is!" The woman squealed.

"Coming!" Called out a sweet, simpering voice. I expected to see a young girl, maybe about my age, to accompany that girlish voice, but to my surprise, a fat, old, and terribly ghastly woman met my eyes like an explosion. She was garbed entirely in pink, head to toe, and she looked like an old toad. She licked her lips and smiled at me.

"Do you see that, Dolores? That must be Ariana Dumbledore!" The skinny woman exclaimed.

"Why, yes, I do believe it is!" the toad-like woman cooed annoyingly. She pulled herself up to her full height, which wasn't very impressive, and pulled the sort of smile upon her face that one would use for small or stupid children.

"Hello, dear. My name is Dolores Umbridge. It is a very nice pleasure to meet you." She curtsied, keeping the annoying smile etched on her face.

"I wish I could say the same." I whispered.

"What was that, dear?" the Umbridge woman asked, acting as though I were stupid.

"The pleasure is all mine." I answered a little louder.

"And my name is Rita Skeeter, writer for the Daily Prophet and renowned author."

I raised my eyebrows cynically. "Renowned author, my foot! You were the one who wrote that load of tripe about my brothers and myself!"

Rita and Dolores's smile grew strained. "Not tripe, my dear. But truth." Rita said, her voice angry.

"Whatever." I huffed, crossing my arms and turning away.

"You're not the quiet girl Bathilda Bagshot described." Rita observed.

"Brilliant deduction! And guess what else? I'm not as mad as a hatter either! When I died, yes, I was mad. But this is the way I was before I was rejected from Hogwarts; before my powers controlled me, instead of me controlling them."

Rita's eyes lit up, and a Quick Quotes Quill launched out of her purse, as well as a scroll.

" My dear girl, would you mind telling Dolores and myself about your life as you recall it?"

I shook my head. "No. Just you. And most certainly not my whole life!"

She thought for a moment, raking her long, red fingernails against the skin on her chin. "Perhaps then, just your favorite memory you can remember?"

I glared pointedly at Dolores and she bustled out of the room. Rita turned her full attention upon me and Conjured up a cup of tea and some cookies for me.

I took a thoughtful sip of tea, and then swallowed carefully before speaking. "It's been so long since I've been asked about my past." I said in my soft voice, while placing my teacup onto its saucer with a gentle clink. "My favorite memory is the first Christmas Albus came home from Hogwarts that I remember clearly."

It had been so long since I'd last seen him; even then, he'd been so distant. He would just ignore me; no matter how hard I tried. But, hopefully, this Christmas, my eighth, would be different. I bounded to the door, excited to say the least. Mother had brushed my hair, so that its corn silk colored strands glistened. She had even brushed the tiniest bit of make-up on my face, hiding my paleness.

"Albus!" I squealed. "It's so lovely to see you! I've missed you terribly!"

"Hello, Ariana." He replied warmly. "Nice to see you too." He then stepped beyond me and kissed Mother on the cheek.

"Hello, Mum."

" Hello, dear. Where's Aberforth?" she asked worriedly.

"Still at King's Cross. He was talking with some friends of his."

"Oh, dear. And you came home without him?"

"Well, yes, Mum. Don't blame me for Abe's decisions. It's not my fault he's a damned git."

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!" Mother reprimanded quietly glancing in my direction. "Be careful of your sister! Do not use foul language or raise your voice around her. You know this!"

"Sorry, Mum." Albus apologized. Mother jerked her head in my direction, and Albus sighed and knelt down beside me, so that he was below my height.

"Ariana, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to show you that side of me."

But his apology came too late. I could feel my magical power spiking dangerously. It was building up, like a flood, and my heartbeat was matching the rise in power. It was racing and my hands were shaking with the sheer enormity of power I had inside of me. Mother began to weep as she pulled out her wand. "Stupefy." She whispered.

That was the last thing I remembered before waking up in my bed. It was often like this, and I could feel my rage boiling inside of me. I struggled to my feet and went downstairs, following my nose. The smell of bacon, eggs, toast, jam, French toast, and something else not so lovely tantalized my nose deliciously.

Leaping down the last flight of stairs, I startled Aberforth, as he spread strawberry jam over his sardines.

"Merlin, Ariana! You scared me!"

"Eww, Aberforth, that's really gross." I commented, pointing to his pink and silver concoction.

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it."

"What makes you think I'll try it?" I replied.

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Ariana? Do you know what today is?"

"No. Why?"

"Happy Christmas everyone!" Mother called out as she came down the stairs, tying her blue robe tightly around her slender waist.

"It's Christmas?" I asked, completely bewildered.

"Yes, Ariana." Albus answered, a giddy look on his face. He was clutching a letter tightly in his hands and seemed positively drunk with happiness.

I gave him a quizzical look, but he ignored me.

Mother noticed this and raised her wand, Summoning Hot Chocolate for all of us.

"Everyone in the living room. Breakfast after presents!"

Mother gave all of us our presents. Albus got a brand new quill with ink that changed colors and a new book about past wizards, Aberforth got a Chudley Cannons Robe as well as a Remembral, and I got a stuffed goat with a bell around it's neck that moved about on it's accord, as well as a play wand.

Albus dove into his thick book with an intensity that only he could procure and Aberforth went back upstairs to get his old stuffed toy so that we could play together. Mother was in the kitchen, gathering up our breakfast so that we could all eat and listen to the radio.

We lounged about the house all day, really doing nothing, until the doorbell rang. Albus flung himself out of his seat and grabbed his coat.

"Bye, Mum. I'll be back in time for supper."

"Where are you going, Albus?" Mother asked, poking her elegant head out of the kitchen.

"Out with some friends. I promise, I'll be back in time for supper." He ran outside the door and waved goodbye, shutting the door behind him. But, I managed to get a good look at the fellow behind him, and the silly look on my brother's face.

Later that night, as I was lying in bed, I realized what a really lovely Christmas I'd had. Aberforth and I had played goats all day, I had played with my real goats, and I hadn't had a bad spell, except for being a bit edgy when Albus finally strolled in at eleven o'clock. I lay my head upon my arms and began to drift off to sleep, dreaming of my happy Christmas.

I finally sat back, tired from regaling my tale. Rita Skeeter was staring at me, utterly shocked. After a long moment, she pocketed her Quick Quotes Quill and stood up.

"Ariana, dear, thank you for your time. And I do hope that you have a very happy Christmas."

I nodded and murmured, "Thank you."

She stood up and walked away, with nary another word to me.

The following morning, the day after Christmas, Aberforth came running in, holding the Daily Prophet.

"Ariana! Look at this! Remember yesterday?"

"Yes." I replied hesitantly.

"Well, that Skeeter woman published your story and everyone's rethinking mine, yours, and Mother's story!"

"That's lovely, Aberforth." I replied, murmuring again. His words became a little muddled to me, as I passed into sweet oblivion again, the magic of Christmas gone from my painting. But, my last thought was, I'm glad I remembered my happiest Christmas. Maybe it'll keep me going through the whole year. And with that thought, I returned to a mere painting, a simple memory of happiness that once was.


End file.
